Chapter 34
Theo
It had been a day.
There was always so much to do after missing work. Add to that the shitty feeling of a migraine hangover, the normal craziness of high school kids, and a fire alarm malfunction, and it had been especially chaotic.
I’d hardly seen Penelope. Which sucked. It happened that way sometimes, but I’d been hoping she’d come out of her classroom after the last bell.
I’d thanked her that morning for the way she’d taken care of me during my migraine, but I hadn’t said enough.
We’d been busy getting ready for the day, but I’d wanted to…
Hold her? Kiss her? Something.
Instead, she’d given me the lunch she’d packed for me, and we’d been on our way. And she still hadn’t emerged from her classroom by the time I had to get down to the field for practice.
We’d been in the same building all day. How could I miss her?
I didn’t have time to contemplate any of it, though. Practice was not going well.
The team’s focus was all over the place—certainly not on the field. We had a big game Friday, and my patience was wearing thin. More than once, I had to step back and take a breath to keep from laying into one of the kids. As it was, they’d already spent a good portion of practice running laps.
None of us were in a good mood.
“Hey, Coach,” Coach Lewis called.
I whirled around and opened my mouth to snap at him. Not that he’d done anything wrong. My fuse was just short.
“Yeah?” I managed.
“Someone’s here asking for you. He’s out front.”
“Who?”
“Says his name is Sean.”
Sean? What the fuck did that guy want?
I nodded in acknowledgment and yelled at the team to get back on the field and run the last play again.
“I’ll be right back,” I said to Coach Lewis. “Don’t let them keep messing around.”
“No problem.”
I walked around the side of the building and through the opening in the fence. Sure enough, there was Sean, dressed in a dark coat and jeans with a gray hat on his head.
“Sorry to bug you at work,” he said as I approached.
I crossed my arms. “What do you want?”
He held his hands up. “I’m not here to cause trouble. There’s something I thought Penelope should know, but I figured it would be best if I didn’t contact her directly.”
“What is it?”
“It’s probably nothing, but I noticed a car on the street in front of the house a couple times. Seemed weird. It’s not one of the neighbors, you know? So the other day, I went out there and looked. I recognized the lady. It was that painter guy’s wife. The one who died.”
“Morris?”
“Yeah. His wife. Kinda looks like a skeleton. It’s why I remembered who she was.”
Gina Morris did have a bit of a skeletal face.
“So, you think you saw Edwin Morris’s wife outside your house?”
“A couple times at least. Maybe three.”
“Why do you think that has anything to do with Penelope?”
He shrugged. “Maybe it doesn’t. But she knew them, at least a little. No idea why that woman would be looking for Penelope, but I couldn’t think of any other reason she’d be parked on my street, sitting in her car.”
That was weird.
“That’s all she did? She didn’t come up to the house or anything?”
“Not while I was there. She never came to the door. Just sat out there. I thought maybe she was looking for Penelope and didn’t know she’d moved. But then why not come to the door and ask for her? The whole thing weirded me out, which is why I figured she should know.”
“Thanks.” I didn’t like Sean any more than I ever had, but I respected him for coming to tell me. It was the right thing to do. I stepped closer and held out my hand. “I appreciate it.”
He took my hand and shook it. “No problem.”
As Sean turned and left, I checked the time on my watch.
I was anxious to get home, but practice wasn’t over, so I went back to the field.
The team didn’t give me much chance to think about what Sean had said.
I had to be on top of them every moment.
Finally, in the last twenty minutes or so, they got their collective shit together and started executing.
I shouted encouragement instead of correction, and like the flip of a switch, morale turned.
They were fired up and ready for their next playoff game.
Time ran out, but we ran a few more plays to solidify the formation. When I released them to the locker room, everyone was in a much better mood—including me.
The aftereffects of the previous day’s migraine started to catch up with me on the way home. It was a bit like a hangover. I was fatigued, my head was fuzzy, and my body ached. I knew I’d feel better after a meal—and I probably needed water—as well as a good night’s sleep.
Which made me think of Pen, and sleeping next to her the night before.
I’d been too out of it for anything to happen. But it hadn’t been about that. It had felt good just having her there—being close to her.
When I got home, it took me a minute before I realized she wasn’t there. I’d held it together all day and my brain was freaking tired. I hadn’t even noticed her car wasn’t outside.
I stood in the kitchen, feeling like a kid who’d just dropped his ice cream cone. In a puddle. While being rained on.
What was wrong with me? Hadn’t she said something about meeting Melanie at the Steaming Mug? She was probably still there.
And why was I suddenly jealous of Melanie for getting to spend the afternoon with Pen?
I kicked off my shoes and sat down on the couch, then closed my eyes and ran my fingers through my hair. I was just tired. It had been a long day and I was still recovering. That was all.
Or was it?
Opening my eyes, I looked around. Signs of Penelope were everywhere.
Her shoes by the door, her teakettle—not to mention an entire basket of tea—in the kitchen.
She’d added little touches all over, stuff I’d hardly noticed until that moment.
Fall decorations, throw pillows on the couch, a mirror near the front door.
And her paintings. I knew the ones that were hers without needing to see the signatures. She had a distinct style—somehow both realistic and whimsical. For some reason, it made me wonder how she was doing on her creek painting.
I got up and went to the spare room she’d transformed into a studio.
It was there, on the easel, and as far as I could tell, it looked finished.
I could practically hear the creek trickling past the smooth rocks.
Smell the pine. Sunlight streamed down through the surrounding trees and reflected off the water.
It was captivating. Just like her.
And standing in the doorway of that room, staring at her painting, it hit me square in the chest.
I was in love with her.
Why then? No idea. I should have realized it a thousand times before. And maybe I had, but I’d been too afraid to admit it.
I couldn’t deny it anymore.
Clutching my chest like I was having a heart attack, I staggered back to the living room. What was I going to do? I was leaving, moving across the country.
Or was I?
What if I didn’t? What if I turned down the job and stayed?
Was I actually thinking about altering my plans for her? Could I turn down my dream job?
Fuck. I collapsed onto the couch again. I didn’t want to go. Didn’t want to leave her. Suddenly the thought of moving across the country seemed absurd. There was no job that mattered more than she did.
Except, what if she didn’t want me?
Or, more to the point, what if she didn’t want me enough?
Twice, I’d been there. Twice, a woman had seemed to want me—seemed to want what I did. And I’d been wrong. Neither of them had wanted me enough to stay.
Kind of like my biological father.
I didn’t think about that guy very often, but once in a while something would remind me that he existed.
That the man who’d fathered me had abandoned his entire family—my mom and my brothers.
He’d tried to drop back into my life when I made it to the pros, and dropped right back out again as soon as I’d been injured. Asshole.
If I stayed, would Penelope?
My brow furrowed and I sat up. Where was she? It was all well and good to be alone while I had a mini panic attack over realizing I was in love with my best friend. But why wasn’t she home?
I was the worst at checking my phone. It had been off all day and I hadn’t thought to turn it on again when I left practice. It wasn’t in my pocket. What had I done with it?
After checking around the house, I looked in my truck. It wasn’t there, either. Damn it. I’d probably left it at school. I didn’t usually do that, but my post-migraine brain fog had been making it hard to think, especially right after practice.
I was starving, so I took a few minutes to grab a snack and drink some water. My head was gradually clearing, and as it did, my realization about Pen didn’t go away. It wasn’t a post-migraine delusion. I was in love with her.
And I knew before I left to go get my phone that I loved her enough to take the risk.